Once again, we're selling our house.

Seems like it was only eight months ago when I posted about selling a home. Wait, it was only eight months ago. Crap the bed! Anyway, if you (or anyone you know) is looking for a nice home on a cul-de-sac in Sandy, please forward this LINK to them. It's going to be listed on Friday so they best be gettin' while the gettin' is good.

A dudes-only weekend.

Last Thursday, I drove Hailey and Berlin to the airport, where they flew off to Arizona to spend a few days with the cousins. As I began my drive home, it hit me. "Holy crap. There's still a kid in the car. A small kid. A kid who hasn't been completely weaned yet." I glanced at the backseat through my rearview mirror. Sure enough, there he was. Apparently he found my horrified expression amusing as he let out a giggle and hucked some kid's meal toy into the hatchback. My mind panicked.

By the time I arrived home my mind had finally accepted the harsh reality that had been placed before it. I decided that I had no choice but to be a sport and make the most of it. James and I were going to have a "Dudes Only Weekend." What were we going to do? You know, stuff that dudes do. Stuff like tile the bathroom, paint crown moulding, grill some red meat, cruise for chicks and maybe catch a monster truck jam at the Energy Solutions Arena. You know, stuff girls like Hailey and Berlin just wouldn't understand.

Of course, what happens on a dudes only weekend stays on the dudes only weekend, so I can't go into details regarding what exactly transpired. But suffice it to say, we totally turned the town upside down. It got so out of hand at times I was sure the authorities were going to get involved. It was a whirlwind of chaos, adrenaline, volume and Similac. But now, on the concluding eve of the occasion, I can't help but shed a small tear and I eagerly await the next time my lil' guy and I get to rock and roll, dudes-only style.

Something strange is afoot in this Baker's Dozen.

I've heard of Bear Claws. I've heard of Bismarcks. I've heard of chocolate bars, cinitwists, glazed donuts, sugar donuts, donuts with sprinkles, cake donuts and donuts holes. What I hadn't heard of (until recently, when donuts were delivered to my work) was the swastika donut.



Incidentally, nobody ate said donut.

So long, Utah.

A few days ago, my phone rang. Caller unknown. I answered. Caller unknown extended to me an offer of employment at an agency located in Boulder, CO called Crispin, Porter + Bogusky. My pants suddenly felt warm and oddly moist. Two days later, I accepted said offer and have now commenced full-on panic mode. In two weeks, I'll officially be a Coloradan. Is that even how you say it? Crap, I'm in trouble. However, to help calm my nerves, I've attached my new life theme song for all to enjoy.

STEVEHAPPENS THEME SONG

On the morn of Sunday, April 1st, I will leave the comforts of my Utah home and travel eastward into the rising sun. Heaven help me.

Houston, we have poop.

As a new father, I have come face to face several times with reasons to harrow. And nearly all of them have included feces. Who can forget the infamous tub poo of 2005? Well, I was kidding myself if I ever thought those events would even hold a candle to the era known as potty training. Without going into abhorrent detail, let's just say an event occurred two weeks ago that resulted in the permanent discarding of two pairs of shoes, the futile borrowing of a neighbor's steam cleaner, the renting of a high-powered Rug Doctor and ultimately, upon admitting defeat, the rearranging of furniture.

However, we survived. And not only that, we triumphed. I am pleased to announce the official potty training of my little angel. Way to go kid! You go poopoo in the potty!